Fidelis Ad Mortem
by Izzi Creo
Summary: The lives of two people, intertwined in the city that never sleeps, over twenty five years. Historical Fiction. DL with SM and FA.
1. Prologue: Ellis Island, 1898

**Disclaimer:** The characters of CSI: NY do not belong to me however this story is of my own and should only be used once permission has been asked and received. No copyright infringement intended and no profit is being made.

**Summary:** The lives of two people, intertwined in the city that never sleeps, over twenty five years. Historical Fiction. DL with SM and FA.

**Notes:** I know I shouldn't be writing this when I have two stories which are already long overdue a new chapter but guh, I was just too excited! I don't know whether people will be interested in this sort of thing but personally, I am a huge sucker for historical fiction and when this idea bit I just couldn't shake it. A l_o_t of research has gone into this and although books tend to be trustworthy, the internet isn't always. Know that I have tried by utmost hardest to keep it as accurate as possible but unfortunately all mistakes are my own.

Danny said in 5x19 'Communication Breakdown' that three of his family members were called Louie, Clemenza and Alphonse so I've accordingly used those names.

I've said in the summary that there shall be DL, SM and FA pairings which is true – however this is still primarily a DL storyline with the sub-pairings of SM and FA (in that order). That's not to say I've thrown them in for the sake of it but then they shan't be featured – chapter four is entirely dedicated to a relationship other than DL (though I won't give the game away now by saying who) – but I didn't want to mislead anyone. I once stated in an old story in another fandom that there would be a mild pairing in later chapters and then received many complaints when they didn't show up for a while so I don't want to relive that conundrum!

With that out of the way, let's roll on!

**Fidelis Ad Mortem**

**Prologue  
Ellis Island, 1898**

Ellis Island, 1898

The red-brick immigration centre with its four corner towers stood proudly, welcomingly beckoning the slow procession of travellers towards its promise of freedom and a new life. After the long and gruelling journey on the ship from Italy, the steerage class passengers had been transferred to a barge which had carried them across the Hudson River for disembarkation at the island. One small boy pulled away from his mother's grip, weaving through the legs of the many people around him before he broke free from the crowd. Gazing open mouthed across to the neighbouring island, he stared at the magnificent Statue of Liberty, robed elegantly with a torch held high and a tablet clasped in her left hand. He was mesmerised by the statue having first seen it in a photograph his _nonno_ had sent along with a letter inviting the family to join him and his eldest son in America. He'd caught the first look of Lady Liberty in person whilst travelling on the ship and found that the photograph had not done her justice. 

"Daniel!" a voice called behind him. Turning, he faced the small girl who was pushing through the crowd. Two years his elder, Giorgia Messer was already growing into a beautiful girl with golden curls and blue eyes with long lashes. Finally reaching the five year old, Giorgia grasped him around the wrist and began to tug him back through the crowd. She spoke in rapid Italian, the only dialect they knew. "Mama is frantic, she says you mustn't run away or we'll leave you here and live in America without you."

"I wanted to see her again," he explained as he was pulled back to his family. Giorgia cast a smile back over her shoulder, having always held a soft spot for her younger brother.

"As soon as we live in America, you'll be able to see her as much as you want," she told him as they finally found their parents again.

Alba Messer took her youngest son into her arms and hugged him fiercely, held him out and scolding him for running away before hugging him again. This proceeded a further three times before her husband ushered them along with the line which was disappearing into the building. As they neared the entrance they could hear a man shouting orders and their bags where being taken by porters. Alba kept a firm grip on both Daniel and Giorgia's hands as they followed their father and eldest brother, thirteen year old Louie, into the vestibule where they were examined by military surgeons and Italian speaking attendants. Labels were pinned to each of them and although Giorgia observed hers with a contemplative expression, Daniel knew she was only pretending to read the foreign writing.

The men were directed one way whilst the women and children went another. Alba gazed after her husband as he was swallowed by the crowd. Daniel watched her, wondering whether she worried that he'd misbehave with his father gone and so squeezed her hand reassuringly. She gave him the briefest of smiles before following Louie towards a doctor who was lifting the eyelids of each person and examining their eyes. Daniel swallowed hard, remembering how his father had insisted he put his glasses in his mother's bag rather than wearing them. _'Just in case'_, he'd said. The doctor checked his eyes and ruffled his hair before sending him along with the others. Breathing a sigh of relief, Daniel clasped his mother's hand as soon as she was examined and approved too.

A staircase leading upwards greeted them and Daniel caught Giorgia's eye, each of them remembering how their _nonno_ had warned in his last letter that anyone who looked breathless or tired would be sent to be examined by doctors. Men in uniform were carefully scrutinising the people as they climbed the stairs and Daniel was careful to not catch their eye, lest he attracted attention to himself. As they neared the top they watched as a woman cried and clamoured for her son who was being led away by a doctor, looking fearful. Tucking her two youngest tighter into her side, Alba called to Louie who was a few stairs ahead. He rolled his eyes but returned to her as well, keeping close as doctors asked them their names and further inspected their chest, scalp and legs.

Finally they were sent through to the Registry Room where people were waiting for loved ones whilst others joined the long lines that were congregating around fourteen different desks. Again, they were being observed from above by officials who stood on a balcony around the room. A man snaked through the crowd before calling to them and they turned, relieved to see their father who kissed them each in turn.

"I have been talking to some men," Clemenza explained to his wife. "They have also heard this rule about being sent back if you already have work. I am to not tell the man at the desk about the work my brother has lined for me or face severe consequences."

Clemenza's brother, Alphonse, had moved to America three years before and owned his own construction firm with a business partner. As well as their _nonno_, he had also urged the family to move to America for a better life and promised work for Clemenza should he move. Their _nonno_ had warned them though that the Ellis Island Immigration officers didn't trust people who already had jobs for two reasons. The first, he had explained in his letter, was because the Americans wanted people who were desperate to work any job, and the second was due to the increased exploitation of immigrants. Recently, wealthy masters had approached families and offered jobs and citizenship, even offering to pay for their travel to America so that once they were in their new country, the master could take them to their lodgings where they would be trapped as slaves within his power.

With this in mind, Clemenza quietly warned his children that he'd have to tell a small lie for them to be granted immigration into America but it would be worth it. Following their father, they joined the queues and before long were being questioned by an official who spoke in clear Neapolitan which was understandable to all those who lived in the Mezzogiorno.

"Messer, excellent," he smiled at them all after checking their names off from the ship's manifesto. "Are you all here?" Clemenza gave a resolute nod. "Good, I only have a couple of questions; did you pay for your own passage?"

"Yes."

"And have you a job in America?"

Daniel noticed his father's forefinger twitch. "No."

Satisfied, the official beamed at them each in turn. "Excellent. Welcome to America, Signor Messer."


	2. Chapter 1: Hawkes

**Disclaimer:** The characters of CSI: NY do not belong to me however this story is of my own and should only be used once permission has been asked and received. No copyright infringement intended and no profit is being made.

**Summary:** The lives of two people, intertwined in the city that never sleeps, over twenty five years. Historical Fiction. DL with SM and FA.

**Chapter One  
Hawkes, 1914-1917**

Harlem, 1914

Looking back, Sheldon Hawkes would always question whether he and his cousin had really been considered suspects in a case of shop theft or whether the police were merely looking to put two more black youths in jail.

Having graduated from school two years early, he'd been enrolled in one of the only Black colleges in New York and was studying to become a doctor. The long classes and hours spent researching followed by the commute between Harlem and Queens each day meant he had little time to spend with his family. His cousin, seventeen year old William, however, had insisted that they meet up once a week for their usual run around the neighbourhood. Their route, known by heart since the age of six, was in its last stretch before returning to Sheldon's home when a police car drew up alongside them and they'd been ordered to the ground, hands behind their heads.

They'd offered little restraint, confused but calm as they were taken to the local precinct. Guileless as they were, the officers had thought it to be an almost convincing front as they were roughly informed of the crime they had apparently committed. The two cousins had been interviewed separately, Sheldon first and William second. As their stories corresponded and they continued to claim their innocence, the officers had begun to look at different aspects of the crime, asking their Chief for guidance. Eventually the Chief and the rookie member of the team had entered an interrogation with William. When they returned later, smugly holding a signed confession, no one asked how William had gained a black eye.

The officers involved didn't want to admit that there were definite inconsistencies in the case; blood at the scene indicated a cut which neither man sported, the stolen goods hadn't been found on either man, nor had they been found at any of the regular dump sites between the pawn brokers shop and where the two men were picked up, and the only witness had failed to identify them in a line up. But a confession was a confession and if the Chief said the case was wrapped up with the help of a Judge who owed him a favour, then who were they to complain. They each had families waiting at home for them who'd benefit from some quality time.

"This isn't right!" Sheldon shouted as he was dragged from the holding cells. He struggled against the two officers who held him under each arm, taking him to the back entrance where he'd been informed a van was waiting to transport him to Blackwell's Island Penitentiary for incarceration without a trial.

The officers slammed him into a wall, effectively knocking the air from his lungs. One of the officers leaned in close, leering menacingly. "Unless you want us to stop on the way and string you up in a tree like the good old days then I suggest you shut the fuck up."

Sheldon furiously struggled again and was rewarded with a punch to the abdomen which rendered him winded once more. Gasping, his chest constricting painfully, he was dragged the remainder of the way towards the van. Stepping up, he turned and held his hand out to prevent them from closing the door.

"Please," he wheezed, "William. What's happened to William?"

"He was transferred to Newgate Prison in Greenwich Village earlier this evening after signing a confession implicating both you and himself for the robbery of the pawn brokers. Enjoy Blackwell," the first officer stated with relish before slamming the van door shut.

Sheldon stood in stunned silence before the van lurch forward and Sheldon stumbled to the bench which aligned the inside wall. Sitting down, he buried his face in his hands, the shackled around his wrists clanking mockingly.

Out of the men in his neighbourhood he was one of the few who'd finished school, even early, and certainly one of the only ones to go on to college. When he'd told his mother he intended to study medicine she'd been so proud, exclaiming to anyone that'd listen that her son was going to become a doctor and help people. He couldn't bear to think of her disappointment when she learned that he was instead on his way to jail, even if for a crime he had not committed. How long would he have to remain in prison for? Without a trial there was no way to feasibly know.

Sheldon thought of his cousin, seventeen and facing imprisonment. He knew that William wouldn't have falsely confessed unless under duress. The earlier threat of lynching made so offhandedly yet offensive and vulgar all the same had proven that the NYPD's 'finest' weren't as uncorrupted as they may like to believe.

It wasn't as though this treatment was displayed only by the police either; Black's weren't entitled to 'equality' and Sheldon knew this was unlikely to change soon. 'We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness'. Words written over a century before and yet even now, the Declaration of Independence should still have been amended to read that all _white_ men are created equal.

His ancestors had been slaves, eventually set free into a world which both feared and despised them. The officer's threat had struck a chord though, painfully reminding Sheldon of his grandfather who had been lynched fifty one year's previously during the draft riots which had swept through New York City for three consecutive days. His body had been strung from the tree all day and when a man attempted to take him down, he'd been shot dead. When it was dark, the eldest son – William's father – and a friend of his had crept to the site and stolen the body away undetected.

The van eventually came to a jolting halt and Sheldon was pitched forwards, saving himself in time before he plunged into the opposite bench. Gravel crunched underfoot as the officers walked around to the van and the doors were thrown open. Sheldon climbed out of the van with as much dignity as he could muster, ready to face the first day of his imprisonment.

Nancy, 1917

Silence reigned once more over the French countryside as the last echo of bullets trailed off, signalling cease fire. The 'morning hate' session which accompanied the breaking of dawn in the trenches was over. Unless a surprise attack came then in sections the American Expeditionary Force was about to embark on the 'breakfast truce', as they liked to call it. Danny Messer yawned widely and stretched as far as he dared, allowing his back to crack loudly before settling back into his original position. At twenty three years of age, he had never planned on fighting in a war but conscription had required both him and Louie to join in the fighting. They'd been put into different regiments and Danny hadn't heard anything of his brother since landing in France. Reaching for his rifle to clean it before inspection, he released a hiss as his hand stretched further than the slow healing wound would allow.

"Hey, you alright?" a voice to his right asked.

"Wha'? Yeah, yeah I'll be fine," he shrugged off the concern, giving his hand a small flex.

"Here, lemme see."

Danny turned towards his comrade, a black male who was pulling gauze out of one of the pockets on his pack. He wasn't wearing identification as a medic yet seemed to know what he was doing so Danny didn't complain. Unpeeling the hastily bandaged hand, Danny gave a sheepish smile and explained how he'd felt a pain in his hand three days earlier during an assault. He'd wrapped a bandage around his bleeding hand and continued shooting until the cease fire.

"I barely had time to think. It wasn't until after the attack that the pain returned and I registered it properly," he told the other man.

"That'd be adrenaline. It kicks in and you can't feel pain until it's worn off," his comrade explained as he cleaned the wound as best he could. "I'm Hawkes by the way, Sheldon Hawkes."

"Danny Messer," he grunted as Hawkes began prodding at the wound with a mumbled apology.

"Is that a New York accent?" Hawkes asked, still examining the wound.

"Staten Island, but I moved from Italy when I was five," Danny explained. He knew Hawkes was keeping him talking so he didn't concentrate on the pain and it worked – moderately. "What about you?"

"Born and raised in Harlem," Hawkes answered as he finished his examining of Danny's hand. "You've been shot through the hand and unfortunately the bullet's still inside." Danny looked down at it, finally realising that it wasn't only the pain which had left his right hand incapacitated. Hawkes reached over to where a dead medic lay on the ground, a gaping bullet hole in the centre of his forehead, and retrieved his medical kit. "I'm going to have to take it out but it's at a strange angle, the bullet seems to be going up into your wrist. I should warn you that this will hurt, a lot, but if I do nothing then you could get an infection, go into sceptic shock or even die. I don't know if you've noticed but it's hardly sterile conditions we're living in."

Danny gave a grim smile, watching as a rat scuttled past before diving out of sight.

"A'ight, do what you gotta do."

Taking the instruments out of the medical kit, Hawkes poured some water from his tankard over them and tried to clean some of the grime off. He gave Danny a spare piece of gauze and indicated that he should bite down on it; doing as instructed, Danny stuffed the gauze into his mouth and balled his uninjured hand into a tight fist. With a quick warning, Hawkes gouged the instrument into Danny's hand as he shouted profanities which were swallowed by the gauze. Working efficiently Hawkes managed to retrieve the bullet before he sewed the wound shut and bandaged it carefully. Danny spat the gauze out and wiped at his eyes which had watered with pain.

"What d'you reckon Doc, think I'll make it?" Danny asked.

Hawkes rummaged in the medic's kit before taking out a medication which he pressed into Danny's uninjured hand, keeping it from view. "Antibiotics, you'll need them to fight off any infections which might already be in your body or any that might come due to the wound. There's not much so you'll have to take it in moderation but keep it hidden," he urged, "people down here will fight for any form of medication. And… don't call me, Doc."

"You're not a doctor?" Danny asked, slipping the antibiotics into an inside pocket.

"Kind of difficult to become a doctor when you've spent the past three years in jail," Hawkes responded roughly. "They gave me a choice, join the army or stay in prison; guess what I chose."

They lapsed into silence and Hawkes supposed that one day he may tell Danny the circumstances around his imprisonment - should they both live long enough - but today wasn't it. They could already hear the battle which was getting steadily closer meaning the breakfast truce was coming to an end before it had really started. Hawkes didn't want to think of those three long years he'd spent in jail, persecuted for being black with guards who turned a blind eye, all the while suspecting that he truly was innocent. He didn't want to relive the feeling of finally being released from prison only to learn William had been shanked during a prison riot and bled to death before it was over. No, these were things that he couldn't – _wouldn't _– think about.

A bullet sliced through the air and Hawkes felt Danny's full weight as he threw him out of the way. A soldier who'd been resting a few yards away from them slumped to the ground, dead. Danny clapped Hawkes on the shoulder before retrieving his rifle and shooting back at the enemy lines. Suddenly filled with white hot anger at the injustices of the world, Hawkes shot back too with renewed vigour and it was only when two of his five round clips were emptied that he stopped to take breath.


	3. Chapter 2: The Follies

**Disclaimer:** The characters of CSI: NY do not belong to me however this story is of my own and should only be used once permission has been asked and received. No copyright infringement intended and no profit is being made.

**Summary:** The lives of two people, intertwined in the city that never sleeps, over twenty five years. Historical Fiction. DL with SM and FA.

**Chapter Three  
The Follies, 1919**

Manhattan, 1919

They had warned that it might be difficult to return to normal life after fighting in what they now called 'The Great War'. Personally, Danny had found the transition fairly easy, too thankful to be alive and back home to fret about the past. He knew that the image of seeing so many men die in the blink of an eye would always be with him, but he refused to let it rule his life.

Before being conscripted into the war he'd worked in the deli his _nonno_ owned in Little Italy, regularly sending a fraction of his wages to his mother who now lived alone in their family home. Once arriving in America they had lived in an apartment with three other families, each crammed into one bedroom until their Uncle Alphonse had insisted that he buy them a house on Staten Island where many Italians were settling. The overjoyed family had moved into a modest house, feeling extremely lucky and thankful to be leaving the squalor of Little Italy behind. Danny's father had worked on the construction firm until 1916 when he'd taken a job at the _Lackawanna Steel Company_ to avoid conscription into the war. The steel manufacturing company had originally been founded in Scranton, Pennsylvania but moved to Buffalo, Western New York in 1902 and Clemenza would journey with other workmen to the site early every Monday morning before returning late each Friday night.

Whilst working in the deli, Danny had spent his free time playing baseball and dreamed of playing professionally. Upon returning from war however, Danny had learned that although Hawkes had successfully extracted the bullet there was still lasting damage which would prevent a team from taking him. Needing a more promising career path, he had instead chosen to work as a labourer for his Uncle. Hawkes, who would have liked to continue practising medicine now he was a free man again but prevented from doing so due to his imprisonment, joined him at the firm. Alphonse was a fair boss, employing many Italians who had otherwise been rejected. Having never finished school and with little to no education, Danny found he enjoyed the work of a bricklayer. Serving in the American Expeditionary Force had provided him with a stronger resilience to being outside and labouring was the kind of hands on task he preferred.

His friendship with Hawkes remained steadfast and for the first time in nine years he also found he had a closer relationship with his brother who worked in the construction firm too. As the eldest, he'd been allowed to finish school and Alphonse had trained Louie so he could operate machinery with his two friends, Sonny Sassone and Salvador Zabo.

It was a warm June morning and Danny had the first day off in as many weeks. As it was fast approaching his mother's birthday and his father was at work in Buffalo, Danny had agreed to arrange the present for her. At nearly fifty three years of age she was still a beautiful woman, capable of capturing the hearts of many and Danny found himself all the more in love with her. Stepping out of the _New Amsterdam Theatre_, he tucked the two tickets to the newest 'Ziegfeld Follies' show into his breast pocket. Danny took a moment to inhale slowly; the sun was already shining on his face with the promise of a fair day, the usual bustle of the city he loved surrounded him and he was pleased with himself for listening to his mother as she sighed about the extravagant shows of Ziegfeld's which she'd never been able to see.

Danny looked up as a handsome navy automobile with a black retractable roof pulled to the curb. Danny, who had never owned but always been impressed with cars, folded his arms and admired the automobile. The door opened and, surprisingly, a slender heeled ankle stepped out. Stunned, he watched as this petite woman climbed gracefully out of the car before leaning back in to take her purse which she clutched underarm. Dressed elegantly in a dark mink coat with a periwinkle blue cloche hat, her curls tumbling from beneath, Danny wondered why such an extraordinary girl wasn't being chauffeured or at least chaperoned.

"'Scuse me," she said, her voice lightly accented and less enunciated than he would have expected. She slipped past him into the foyer of the theatre and he resisted the urge to follow, dumfounded as he was. Instead, he forced his feet to move back in the direction of the apartment he shared with Hawkes and a block later he was laughing at himself for ever being attracted to a girl who was at least two social classes higher than he.

* * *

The usual, "forgive me _il mio tesoro,_ I won't be coming home tonight" telephone call came at precisely 3:47pm. Alba Messer sighed resolutely as she placed the receiver back into the cradle and sank wearily into the chair reserved for herself. Danny stood in the doorway, watching as his mama's lips pursed but she said nothing, keeping at bay all the biting words he knew she wanted to express. He knew she was lonely and therefore tried to visit as often as possible but work and living in the city sometimes prevented that. She assured him that she didn't blame him for having his own life but sometimes Danny wished his father and brother made more of an effort for their mother.

Danny looked distastefully at the crumpled card which stood on the mantelpiece, an untidy scrawled message from Louie on the inside. If Danny could write, then he would have written a card too, but he wouldn't have been so tactless as to write it in English - a language his mother could speak but neither read nor right. His older brother, who still lived in Richmond with his latest girlfriend, visited their mothereven less than Danny did and for that the younger son resented him for it. The card stood beside an old framed photograph of the family which had been taken shortly after their move to New York. Danny, then turned six, sat upon Louie's shoulders and they each had matching haircuts and grins. Their mother stood on the left, looking at beautiful as ever, and their father stood on the right. In front of Louie, his arm wrapped around her chest as she laughed heartily, was Giorgia. Danny nudged his glasses up his nose, clearing the swell of emotion out of his throat before turning towards his mother.

Alba looked up to him, smiling sadly. Her accent thickened with barely concealed emotion. "Perhaps you should take these to Alphonse. I'm sure he and Marietta would enjoy the show."

Danny shook his head vehemently. "No Ma, c'mon it's your birthday and you've wanted to see one of these shows for a long time. I'm not letting Uncle Alphonse and Aunt Marietta go in your stead. You still have my suit here and I'm sure I could scrub up to your standard so what d'you say, reckon you could let me escort you to the theatre?"

Alba beamed, her face brightening. "You'd do that for me, Daniel?" he gave her a wink, crossing the room to kneel before her. She reached up, cupping his cheek affectionately. "Oh, my boy."

Sat later with her in the Mezzanine, dressed in their finest clothing and awaiting the lift of the curtain, he would squeeze his mother's hand affectionately with the silent promise of a man who'd always be his mother's boy.

Having always been interested, yet unable to pursue a career, in art Danny was impressed by the structure of the auditorium in the _New Amsterdam Theatre_ with its Art Nouveau elegance. He was casting his gaze around the auditorium when a woman sat within one of the reserved boxes caught his attention. Danny stared intently at the woman, recognising her immediately. Since seeing her outside the theatre she had occasionally occupied his thoughts. Usually when relaxed and allowing his mind to wander, he'd be drawn back to her warm eyes or kind smile. Presently she was sat with four people; a stiff, dark haired gentleman sat on her far right and between them a woman with dark ringlets and olive skin. With the two women seated together in the middle, the final space on the far right was occupied by a tall man with dark hair. She was speaking to him, his head inclined towards her mouth and her fingers lightly grazing the lapel of his dinner jacket, smiling.

As the orchestra struck up and the lights dimmed a hush fell over the audience; his mother squeezed his hand excitedly and he smiled at her before turning towards the stage. His gaze, however, flicked every few moments towards the captivating woman sat in the reserved box, her face flushed with delight and wonder.


	4. Chapter 3: The Taylor's

**Disclaimer:** The characters of CSI: NY do not belong to me however this story is of my own and should only be used once permission has been asked and received. No copyright infringement intended and no profit is being made.

**Summary:** The lives of two people, intertwined in the city that never sleeps, over twenty five years. Historical Fiction. DL with SM and FA.

**Chapter Four  
The Taylor's, 1870-1919**

High society was a stepping stone game. One false move could bring shame to a family, destroying the reputation which had been built for centuries. The Taylor's, however, had always been known to break the rules. Both loved and loathed throughout the upper classes, they were always respected as a family who came from old money. Llewellyn Bach, a Welsh Quaker, had immigrated to Pennsylvania in the late seventeenth century with his wife and two sons where they joined the already expanding Welsh tract. It was his great-granddaughter Millie Bach who married McKenna Boyd Taylor and mothered Mac Llewellyn Taylor. Mac, whose grandfather had moved the family to Chicago when Millie was twelve, followed in the footsteps of his father and became a Marine, fighting in the 1989 Spanish-American war. Upon his return he married his childhood sweetheart, Claire Conrad, and together they moved from Chicago to New York where Mac, now honourably discharged from the marines, enlisted as a police officer for the NYPD at the age of twenty five. Their marriage, though happy, was short lived and three years later Claire died of tuberculosis.

With no children from his marriage, Mac put all of his energy into his job and he steadily rose through the ranks of the NYPD until he was a Detective First Grade and Supervisor of his own team. He formed two firm friendships at the department; the first was with fellow Detective and Supervisor Donald Flack and Mac became a pseudo uncle to his then six year old son, Don Flack Jr. The second established friendship was with the first female Detective placed upon his team.

Worried that the pressure of working in a majorly male environment would be too much, Mac had been taken unawares by twenty one year old Stella Bonasera whose strong personality and fierce determination had made her one of the best on his team. Following the one incident in which Stella had nearly broken the hand of an officer who'd squeezed her backside, she became one of the only female Detectives to not be harassed daily by the men she worked with.

Their friendship had bloomed for three years and although there were a few raised eyebrows throughout the precinct, the officers knew not to challenge Mac Taylor unless with actual proof. Aged twenty nine, Mac had travelled back to Chicago for his father's final days and attended the funeral before returning to New York. Emotionally drained yet remaining strong, his inner walls which had been steadily built since Claire's death began to slip and it was Stella who was there when his emotions stuttered, finally catching him when he stumbled. Following this, their relationship hung in a silent limbo which flirted with the idea of something more until Stella took it upon herself to tell Mac that she was in love with him and that if he didn't do something about it then he was going to lose her. After hearing through the precinct gossip that Stella was being taken to dinner by a local artist called Frank Mala, Mac had realised that he needed to tell her how he felt.

Convincing Stella to join him at the opera instead of taking Frank's offer of dinner was the first step of their new relationship. Mac informed the Inspector that he was intending on courting Stella and they began their courtship. They finally married in 1906 and although the socialites talked of how he'd married a working class orphan ("who is Greek, no less!" exclaimed Mrs. Walton) they were content and happy. Within the year Stella was pregnant with their first child however seven months into the pregnancy they lost the child and learnt the devastating news that any child conceived would not last a full pregnancy. At one of Mrs. Walton's brunches, her friend Mrs. Rourke scathingly commented that their tragedy was the outcome of mixing breeds.

Deciding to take time from work, Mac and Stella had dealt with the grief together and once healed Stella had decided that they needed to get out of the city. The inheritance money from McKenna had already bought them a handsome apartment on Lexington Avenue and they used a large portion to travel the country. The remaining money remained locked in a safe and although Mac was often advised to place money in a bond he always refused, reminding them of the stock market crash of 1906 which Wall Street was still struggling to rebuild.

Stella spent weeks planning the trip and Mac was pleased to see a spark return to his wife which had been missing since the loss of their child. She organised the trip so that they travelled the country in a loop, finally arriving back in New York. It was whilst travelling that they met Lindsay Monroe.

Arriving back in New York with an eight year old child that everyone knew little about caused a stir amongst the gossipmongers. Mrs. Walton believed she was a distant relative, orphaned like Stella, and taken as the Taylor's ward out of pity. Mrs. Rourke sneered that it was an impulsive act born from the grief. Despite the speculations, however, Lindsay grew to be a happy and healthy child who understood, for perhaps the first time in her life, what love was. Mac and Stella treated her like a daughter of their own, she owned more money than her family had ever had and attended school with other girls her own age. For Lindsay, a special aspect of living with Mac and Stella was the incomprehensible feeling of belonging. She was allowed her own freedom and did as she pleased, within reason. Lindsay also became well acquainted with the children of Don Flack Sr. and Colleen Flack; the eldest was Maggie and at eighteen years old she was already married and heavy with child, the second child was seventeen year old Bryan who was working as a clerk in the Financial District, next came twelve year old Don Flack Jr. and eleven year old Samantha Flack.

Don and Sam had grown up to be the closest of all the children and despite the age difference they also incorporated Lindsay into their friendship. As children they often took to Central Park and played imaginary games which often resulted in scraped knees, torn clothing and dirty feet. The Flack's nursemaid soon learnt it was her job to ensure the children were clean and presentable once more before they greeted their parents and although challenging, she didn't once fail which caused an alliance between her and the children.

As they grew into adults, the friendship formed between the three continued and it was unsurprising when their parents suggested marriage for Don and Lindsay. Indeed the social circles had been speculating for years when a proposal would surface and both Don and Lindsay had joked that not marrying would disappoint too many people. It was clear to Lindsay that Don cared for her in the same way she did for him and she was certain that they would be very happy together. For a short while she had entertained worrisome thoughts that their marriage night may present a certain level of awkwardness due to their friendship however she'd expressed these fears to Stella who'd assured her that every bride felt the same way. She herself had worried that perhaps her and Mac's relationship would be tarnished but instead the intimacy had connected them in more ways than she thought possible.

"But of course," Stella had added with a knowing and conspiratorial smirk, "our wedding night wasn't the first night that we'd done certain things."

* * *

The Plaza, 1919

The grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel was bathed in a rich, golden glow. Round tables had been arranged in a dining area with white flawless cloths and a band was playing a soft melodious tune. Guests stood in clusters around the dance floor, watching the two in the middle as they slowly revolved on the spot. Lindsay's left hand rested upon Don's shoulder, the solitaire cut engagement ring glinting beneath the overhead chandelier to the envy of some of those watching. Don tucked two fingers beneath Lindsay's chin and tipped her head upwards, placing a chaste kiss to her lips. Over his shoulder, she saw his mother clap happily and press the tips of her fingers to her mouth. Sam, stood beside them, pulled a grotesque face and winked. Lindsay grinned and dipped her head again, smothering the urge to return the face. The song drifted to its end and Don brought her left hand to his lips, grazing the knuckles to the applause of their spectators.

At twenty years of age, Lindsay had already experienced a lot of what life had to offer. She hardly spoke about what had happened before Mac and Stella had taken her into their care and nobody dared ask. They suspected that Don and Sam, at least, knew of Lindsay's life prior to living in New York but again knew not to ask. Don and Lindsay left the dance floor and were immediately engulfed by their families, all of whom were beaming with pride. Stella took Lindsay beneath her arm, hugging her tightly and steering her towards the bar.

"It looks as though you need a drink." Stella linked her arm through Lindsay's as they crossed the ballroom. "Rumour has it that this is already promising to be one of the most prestigious social events of the year."

"You must be so proud. Isn't it every woman's dream to raise a child who will be talked about for years?" Lindsay asked dryly and Stella chuckled appreciatively. They passed two elderly women who gave them a hard, forced smile.

"Remind me why we had to invite those two again?" Lindsay muttered darkly as they walked away, glancing back at Mrs. Walton and Mrs. Rourke.

"Unfortunately Colleen invited them. Don't get me wrong, Colleen's lovely and she's been a good friend over the years but I completely disagree with her determination to remain within the right social groups."

Lindsay grinned openly. "Well, we never have exactly been welcome in the social groups now, have we?"

Stella gave a tinkling laugh, patting Lindsay's hand affectionately. "What with my stealing of Mac from Mrs. Rourke's daughter and you stealing Don from Mrs. Rourke's _granddaughter_ I'm surprised she hasn't called for our heads on a platter yet."

They reached the bar and hesitated before Stella ordered them two glasses of water; usually they would drink gin but Mrs. Walton – a member of the Women's Christian Temperance Union – was furiously insisting that a prohibition act was imminent and therefore no person of high standing should be consuming alcoholic beverages. Lindsay sipped at the water and watched Mrs. Walton, her beady eyes fixed upon Sam who was boldly drinking a glass of gin.

"Do you really think this prohibition act will pass?"

"Goodness knows." Stella held out her free hand to Lindsay. "Come, I 'spose we'll have to jump back into the fray of things – this is your party after all."

Lindsay gave an exasperated sigh and grinned. "Don't remind me."


	5. Chapter Four: Lindsay

**Disclaimer:** The characters of CSI: NY do not belong to me however this story is of my own and should only be used once permission has been asked and received. No copyright infringement intended and no profit is being made.

**Summary:** The lives of two people, intertwined in the city that never sleeps, over twenty five years. Historical Fiction. DL with SM and FA.

**Chapter Four  
Lindsay, 1919**

New Amsterdam Theatre, 1919

The intermission was nearly over and the theatre's front of house were calling that the second act of the 'Ziegfeld Follies' show was due to begin. Lindsay slipped through the bar, craning her neck for a sight of Don who'd left for a cigarette with the promise of not being late for the second act curtain. A body brushed past hers and she threw a quick apology over her shoulder before continuing through the bar and out of the side door. She began walking down the corridor towards the reserved box Mac and Stella were already seated within when a hand gently gripped her upper arm, spinning her around.

His eyes were blue, shades darker than Don's and striking even behind the glasses frames. His blonde hair was slicked back into a formal style to match his smart, if cheap, suit. She smiled at him, her expression politely inquisitive and he retracted his hand from her arm.

The man standing before her scratched his neck, suddenly looking sheepish. He vaguely gestured behind him to the door which led back into the bar. "The er… the kid that bumped into you back there took this from your wrist."

He held up a delicate silver bracelet. The jewellery had been a gift from Stella when Lindsay had first moved to New York and the sentimental value outweighed the expense. The bracelet had once belonged to Stella's mother and it was the only thing of her mother's that Stella still owned. Giving it the gift to Lindsay had spoken volumes about her acceptance into the family and Lindsay had been overjoyed, wearing it daily as a reminder of what Stella and Mac had sacrificed for her.

Lindsay felt a lump form in her throat at the prospect of losing it. "Oh," she breathed. "Thank you, thank you so much. I didn't even realise it was missing. How did you manage to get it back?"

"I just saw the guy take it and threatened to phone the cops if he didn't hand it over. It was nothin' really," he replied modestly.

"Thank you," she said again. "I can't possibly imagine what I would have done should I have lost it. It was a present, you see." She regarded him for a moment, thinking how rare it was that someone would return something so valuable. "What's your name?"

He grinned, extending his hand which she took. "Danny Messer."

"Lindsay Monroe. You know, most people wouldn't have returned this."

His grin grew as he withdrew his hand. "I ain't most people."

She blushed beneath his gaze, smiling despite herself. Don appeared over his shoulder, walking towards her with a smile.

"Hey, you ready to go back inside? Second act's about to begin."

Lindsay nodded. "Sure. Danny Messer, this is my fiancé Don Flack," she introduced. They gave each other a stiff nod. "Danny just returned my bracelet to me; it seems someone slipped it from my hand as I was passing."

"I told you to have it fitted properly," Don scolded lightly and she rolled her eyes at him, both smiling. He turned towards Danny whose face was modestly arranged. "You handed it back, huh? Awfully decent of you. Messer, you say; any relation to Alphonse Messer?"

"Er, yeah, he's my uncle," Danny replied a little uneasily.

Don nodded and turned towards Lindsay. "Alphonse Messer was the Italian construction owner whose firm repaired the roof of the precinct a couple of years back."

Danny smiled wryly to himself, realising that he was being marked as working class.

The final call before curtain drifted down the hall from the bar and they said their goodbyes, parting ways. Danny slipped back into the bar, aware that Don and Lindsay were repeatedly glancing over their shoulder at him as he disappeared. The bar was empty now except for the front of house staff as they collected empty glasses and cleaned the room. One man swept past Danny but he stilled him with a hand on the shoulder, slipping a twenty dollar bill into his breast pocket.

"Cheers, Tony," Danny thanked his childhood neighbour.

"No problem, Danno. You need anything like that done again, you come straight to me. Prissy thing slid straight off her hand," Tony said with a wink and a grin. "Make sure you tell ya Ma happy birthday and that I hope she enjoys the show."

Danny promised he would before ducking out of the bar. The auditorium was silent as the curtain rose and the second act of the show began. Sliding back into his seat, his mother glanced across at him. "Where have you been?" she whispered. "You almost missed the beginning."

He flashed a mysterious grin. "I was takin' care of some business."

* * *

Manhattan, 1919

Grunting with the effort, Danny pushed the hoe through the trough and folded the cement mixture upon itself. The sun was beating down and his shirt was sticking to his back. Leaving the hoe to stand upright in the cement, Danny took off his brown flat cap and wiped his glistening forehead with his forearm before replacing the cap and continuing with his work. He pushed the hoe back through the mixture, pleased to find the consistency thickening. Hawkes walked over to him, carrying another sack of aggregate which would be added to the next mix of cement.

"Hey, how's it coming along?" Hawkes dropped the sack to the floor.

"A'right," Danny grunted as he folded the cement upon itself again.

"Here, gimme that, I've come to relieve you," Hawkes told him. Danny checked his watch, surprised to find that it was four o'clock already. Passing Hawkes the hoe, he clapped him on the back before jogging towards the portable cabin which was his uncle's office to punch out. Inside sat his uncle's secretary Cynthia who gave him a flirtatious wink. He grinned, turning to use the punch out machine.

"Oh Danny," she called as he prepared to leave, a distinct simper in her tone. "Your uncle asked if you could give this to ya Ma."

She held out a long, thin box which was carefully wrapped with a ribbon. Danny mused that it was more than his father had given her - he still hadn't repaid Danny for the show tickets. Danny took it from her and slipped it into his pants pocket.

"Tell Alphonse I said thanks to him and Marietta," Danny told her before leaving.

"No problem," her sultry voice called after him.

He crossed the construction yard and exited, basking in the sun now that he wasn't working. He leisurely strolled through Chelsea, contemplating a visit to his _nonno_ in Little Italy once he'd been home to change and freshen up. He'd walked five blocks when he noticed a car pulled up to the sidewalk, steam billowing from the front grilles.

"Ya need any help?" he asked as he rounded the car.

"Oh no, thank you," a now familiar voice answered. Straightening up and tucking a curl behind her ear, Lindsay's smiled faltered as she recognised him. She frowned, surprised to see him again. "Hi, it's er… you again. Are you, I mean, are you following me or something?"

"Wha'? No, God no!" he laughed. "I'm working on the construction site back there and was on my way home. I didn't even realise it was you until ya spoke."

She smiled apologetically. "Right, sorry, I guess I was just surprised to see you again."

"Yeah, no kiddin'," he agreed. "So did ya need any help?"

Lindsay's attention turned back to the car and she grimaced. "No, but thank you. I'm afraid this is a lost cause. I won't know for sure without opening it up but I think the head gasket's gone and I can't risk driving it in this heat."

"You seem to know a lot about cars." Danny tucked his hands beneath his armpits and rocked on his heels. The impression showed on his face and Lindsay grinned a little.

"My father was an automobile mechanic so I've always grown up knowing cars," she answered easily.

"So where are you headed?" Danny asked as Lindsay pulled the keys out of the ignition and dropped them into her purse.

"I'm off home, yourself?"

"Yeah, the same."

She grinned cheekily. "I thought you said you weren't following me?"

Danny laughed and nudged her arm with his own. They'd begun walking without thinking of it, their pace leisurely and the conversation flowing easily. She sidestepped a suspicious looking stain on the floor.

"So where do you live?" she asked.

"Midtown, I rent with a buddy of mine. What about you?"

"Lexington Avenue," she answered, "The Stuyvesant Building."

Danny gave a low appreciative whistle. "Pricey. Your folks are pretty loaded, I take it?"

She shrugged. "Something like that. Mac comes from a rich family so he's always had money but Stella was an orphan, working class too, so you can imagine the scandal when they got married."

Danny laughed. "How did they meet?"

"They work as Detective's for the NYPD together. Mac is Stella's supervisor and they went from colleagues to friends to more, I guess," she answered. "What about your parents, what do they do?"

"Pop works during the week in Buffalo at the Steelworks there and he comes home for the weekend. They live on Staten Island but my Ma doesn't work, she's able to speak English but she can't read or write very well."

"That must be hard," Lindsay mused.

Danny gave a half shrug. "I know she gets lonely, what with Pop being away for so long. I try and visit as much as possible and my brother visits when he wants something."

"Is he younger?" she asked.

"Older. He's pretty irresponsible though… we ain't that close." He gave another shrug. As they walked on, Danny was surprised at how much he had divulged to Lindsay. His feelings and his background was something that he usually guarded like a close held secret and he preferred to not share his problems, even to Hawkes.

"So what were you doin' round here?" he asked.

Lindsay noticed the tactful change of topic but didn't comment upon it. "I work around here. I'm a seamstress at the Viola Doll Company but I couldn't find a place to park in the Garment District so I came further down into Chelsea."

"Lemme get this straight; you fix cars, drive a car and work as a seamstress? You must be pretty damn perfect."

"Nobody is perfect, Mr. Messer."

"Ya remembered my name, that's pretty good from where I'm standing'," he said with a grin and she flushed, hitting the inside of her lip.

"Mac wasn't too happy about me getting a job at the factory," she pressed on to cover the moment.

"Why not?"

"He was worried that the building might catch on fire like that one did in 1911," she answered. Danny looked away and Lindsay noticed a shadow pass across his face. He glanced across, realised she was watching him and sighed sadly before flashing her a smile to reassure her that she hadn't said anything wrong.

She didn't press him but Danny still felt compelled to divulge that part of his life. He nudged his glasses up his nose. "You're talkin' abou' the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire. I was across the street with my brother when it happened and we saw the whole thing. It was March 25th, a Saturday, when the fire broke out and by the time the factory girls up on the ninth floor found out it was already too late and they were trapped. We saw girl after girl appear at the windows and they started jumpin' or fallin' from the buildin'. The police put nets up the bodies fell straight through them. I saw my sister for a split second before she also jumped. She died of blunt impact injuries as soon as she hit the sidewalk."

"I'm sorry," Lindsay said with feeling.

"I haven't spoken about Giorgia for a long time," he admitted. "She was nineteen when she died and it kinda, well, it tore out family apart. Ma was always cryin' and Pop didn't wanna talk about it. In the end, I think Pop was relieved to take the job in Buffalo. Louie… he was twenty five when it happened and thought he could have done more to help. He thought I could have too and… well, like I said, we ain't that close."

"How did you take it?" Lindsay asked softly.

"Pretty hard. Giorgia was everythin' to me, I loved her completely and I'll always regret not bein' able to do more to help her."

"You can't blame yourself for something like that," she told him. Danny glanced sidelong at her.

"Sounds like someone talkin' from experience."

She smiled softly. "Perhaps we'll go there on another day."

Danny grinned. "You sayin' you want to see me again?"

Lindsay tucked a curl behind her ear. They'd reached the Park Avenue and East 57th crossroad.

"What are you doin' this Saturday?" he asked.

"I haven't got anything planned."

Danny grinned. "Then meet me here at ten o'clock and we'll spend the day together."

She hesitated before agreeing with a nod. "Alright, I'll be here. It was nice to see you again, Mr. Messer."

"It was nice seeing you too, Ms. Monroe," he called as she crossed the street and disappeared into the crowd. The promise of Saturday caused a smile to crack across his face.


End file.
